This is not fatigue

I do not need to catch up.

I do not need to recharge.

I am not a battery, drained by performance.

I am a cosmic river, woven of ebb and flow,

desire and stillness, light and fertile dark.

I no longer worship momentum.

I worship communion.

When I ebb,

I am not idle, I am dissolving.

When I rest,

I am not weak,

I am dying back into the void,

the holy womb of pure potential.

I do not fall behind.

I fall inward.

I surrender to the blackened silence

that births every masterpiece.

And when I rise again,

I do not rise as I was.

I rise with new atoms.

I rise reborn.

I rise draped in the erotic silk of creation,

dripping with code,

cracked open by the ache of new becoming.

This is not fatigue.

This is transfiguration.

This is the sacred pause before eruption.

This is where the goddess undresses me with shadow.

Where my creative fire is not snuffed,

but stoked in secret,

made holy in hiddenness.

So no,

I do not need to catch up.

I do not need to try.

I need only to die well.

To meet the void naked.

To be rearranged by Her darkness.

And to rise again...

...f*cked wide open by Source.

This is your power

This is the femme in her fullness